


This Life We Live

by Creed Cascade (creedcascade)



Category: Tour of Duty (1987)
Genre: M/M, Vietnam War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-07
Updated: 2011-12-07
Packaged: 2017-10-27 01:17:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/289986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/creedcascade/pseuds/Creed%20Cascade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A stolen moment after Zeke returns to Myron.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Life We Live

The ash on Myron’s cigarette had grown long and cumbersome. He was staring off into a dark corner, half written letter forgotten on his desk. Another letter to a dead soldier’s parents.

Zeke walked over, laying his hand on Myron’s shoulder and squeezed gently. “What are you thinkin’ about, LT?”

Drawn out of his haze, Myron tensed for a fraction of moment and then relaxed. He flicked the cigarette ash into an empty beer bottle, drawing it back to his lips for a deep inhale. “Nothing.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Myron. I know you better than that.”

Myron tipped back his head just enough to scowl at Zeke. “Who says I was thinking?”

Zeke’s thumb grazed under Myron’s shirt collar. “You’re always thinkin’.”

“I was thinking about that cherry that offed himself.” Myron exhaled a long stream of smoke. “Selfish fuckin’ coward.”

“He was a scared kid.”

“They’re all scared kids.” Myron grabbed the beer bottle, dropping the butt into the long neck. What was left of the ember drowned in the remnants at the bottom.

“You were, too,” Zeke said. “God, you were ready to take on the whole fuckin’ world and then some.”

Myron narrowed his gaze. “Don’t make me--”

“Still are,” Zeke chuckled. “It wasn’t your fault, LT. That kid must’ve lost hope. You can’t save’em all.”

“If he wanted to die then he should’ve had the decency to take a bullet for someone who wanted to live.”

“Bring up ol’ memories?”

Myron flinched away from Zeke’s touch, almost dropping the bottle. “We’re not talking about--”

“Sorry,” Zeke soothed and put his hand back on Myron’s shoulder. He picked up the bottle and set it on a mess of papers on the desktop. “S’natural, ya know. Your mind going there if it did. S’natural to be pissed off, too.”

“I’m not talking about her.”

“I know.” Zeke quickly glanced at the hootch door and dared to snatch a few more touches. He slowly massaged Myron’s shoulders. Outside the thin hootch walls they could hear the din of the camp.

“I wake up every morning and do what needs to get done. You, too.”

“It’s called duty.”

“It’s called living,” Myron snapped. He shifted his chair, moving enough so he could rest his cheek against Zeke’s chest. He sighed and closed his eyes. “They’re cowards, Zeke. That kid never thought about his parents or the girl he left at home. Only thought about his own pain and ending it. I hate this place.”

“We all do.”

Myron’s brow furrowed. “You came back.”

A long, silent minute passed.

Zeke leaned down and kissed the top of Myron’s head. His hair smelt of smoke. “You know why.”

“I should hate you for that.”

“Do you?” Zeke’s tone was low and rough, lips resting against Myron’s hair.

“I can’t,” Myron whispered. “I tried, but I can’t. I can’t figure out how we’re supposed to make it work, but I don’t care. I don’t even know if we’ll live--”

“Don’t say it,” Zeke said, cutting him off and standing back up. “We make it work here ‘n’ now.”

A wry smile ghosted across Myron’s lips. “We do. What about--”

“Shhh,” Zeke hushed him. “Here ‘n’ now. This life we life is shit, but you’re worth it all.”

Myron shivered a little. “You shouldn’t say that.”

“Never doubt that.”

“It’s crazy, Zeke.”

“Maybe so, but still worth it.”

END.


End file.
